Sands out of the desert
by obscured-enigma
Summary: Cheesy title, not so cheesy fanfic, unless you count the fact that it's all about Sands... Takes place after OUATIM in Broadway-bearing New York. The CIA isn't too chuffed with Sands at the moment, and this can only mean that trouble pursues.
1. Prolouge

This is aprolouge of a Sands OUTIM fanfiction I have in mind, it's pretty preliminary stuff and it might be a long time before it gets updated, however it's been kicking around on my computer and I decided it's about time I actually did something with it. Tell me if you like it.

And as if you didn't know, Sands does not belong to me, as traumatic as the truth may be. I just like playing with him '

**Prologue**

"Mr. Sands?" The man sitting up in the hospital bed snapped to attention.

"A phone call for you sir."

He took the receiver gingerly from the nurse, and placed it to his ear.

"Yes?" He asked gruffly, as it had been a long time since he had last spoken.

"Mr. Sheldon Sands?" The male voice inquired from the other end of the receiver. The man groaned at the title, as he rearranged his posture to make himself sit as straight as he could.

"Sands will be fine, thank you." He replied, his voice now gently laced with a tone of annoyance, yet scarily calm.

"Oh, ok… Mr. Sands. I've been trying to contact you for quite some time now." The man at the other end had a sincere voice, like they were taught to speak in such a way.

"Is that so?" Sands drawled suspiciously.

"Yes, your contacts have been down for two months now." The man paused, as if waiting for Sands to explain himself. When this pause was filled with a stony silence, he hesitantly carried on. "Erm… I'm your aunt's solicitor, Mr. Johnson."

Sands gave an inwards sigh of relief. Anyone could have been calling him, and not everyone is the safest of citizens to be around, especially in his line of work.

"This may come as a shock to you, Mr. Sands, but your aunt died a month ago in a car accident, your uncle is still in a coma."

There was silence, and the man waited a long while, he knew it would seem strange to hear a relative had been dead for so long, and you didn't even know. Yet he was waiting for the tell-tale exclamation of disbelief.

It didn't come.

In fact, Sands did know his aunt had died, but said nothing of it.

"I've been looking through her will, and there are some matters I need to speak to you in person about." The man on the other end of the receiver said at last, seeming now very shaken. Sands heard the sound of rustling papers. He sensed the nervousness of the solicitor now and grinned to himself, he had this effect on some people.

"Ah, so you would be the executor?"

"Erm…yes. Yes I am."

"Well, Mr. Johnson. I don't quite know how to put this, but I'm a little busy for wills right now." Sands said, perplexedly.

"Yes… I understand you have been going through… difficulties."

Sands fought back a bout of sardonic laughter. "Yes, 'difficulties' is _one_ way of putting it. " He drawled.

"It is important you attend the meeting shortly, it does also concern your uncles will." Mr. Johnson pleaded.

"I thought he wasn't pushing up daisies yet." Sands said, remarkably bitter.

"No, I don't mean Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Sands is the man concerned, your previous uncle."

Sands fell silent, a horrific memory just flashed in his mind.

After a long silence, he spoke again, almost choking on his words.

"So, Mr. Johnson, when will I be meeting you?"


	2. A meeting gone wrong

Well, I've decided to go a little further with this fanfic. I have about three chapters planned before I get stuck for ideas, fingers crossed I have some more by then .x.x. Anyways, the rating of this fanfic is now going to go waay up as we get into it, violence, language and all the stuff people saw with the original Sands because let's face it, otherwise it wouldn't be the original Sands.

I had serious problems with this chapter and still do, but I'm being a fool and posting it anways, if you like it I would love to hear so. As shameful as I am, the more reviews I get, the quicker I write the next chapter.

FINAL NOTE:(as if you didn't know) Sands does not belong to me, dammit, but everyone else here does.**

* * *

**

**Chapter 1**

It had been a terrible accident. A lorry carrying gas had collided with a Land Rover, two other cars had been pulled into the disaster before they could break quick enough. The event had even reached world news, which had been an amazement to Aimee who had lived with her dad in the peaceful state of Alabama her entire life. Before she knew it she had been bombarded with press, wanting to know how she felt about the accident. Their lack of sympathy had made her so enraged, that she had struck out at them at one point. That act had awarded her a night in jail.

Still she didn't care, she mourned for her step-mom as she should have done. And waited every day to hear that her dad had woken up. A whole month had passed, and there had been no change. He was stable, but still in a coma. Every day she would wake up thinking. _Is today the day that he dies? Or will he wake up?_

She always kept her cell on, just in case she got the joyous, or just as easily, devastating phone call from the hospital. It tore her up inside to think that her dad could die at any minute, if there was a power cut, a change in his condition… She kept the thoughts from her mind, she always had other problems. The major one was her step-mom's will.

Every week she had received the same phone call from the solicitors, every week the question was the same.

_Where is your cousin?_

And every time the answer was the same, the last she had ever heard was that he was in Mexico for some reason. He never contacted her, she never expected him too. They hadn't really gotten on since day one. She remembered the first time she laid her eyes on the surly youth, and knew there and then, that she didn't like this boy. Needless to say, he had lived up to her expectations, and still did. The self-centred jerk wouldn't even travel from his job in Mexico to spend a couple of days in New York, sorting out his aunt's dying wishes.

He always had been selfish, uncaring and lonely. All alone and he bloody deserved it. All he needed was to be taught the value of life, as far as Aimee was concerned he was still an insolent little boy.

But it seemed that the day he learnt would never come, nor would his arrival to the solicitor's office. Mr. Johnson had _finally_ managed to contact him, and he was an hour and a half late, just to uphold his useless reputation.

Sighing once more in frustration, her ginger head swung to her step-brother. He wasn't looking at her, instead his dark eyes stared at the panelled wall with a dull boredom. Lazily, Aimee transferred her gaze to the acting executor before her.

Mr. Johnson sat behind his typical solicitors desk, dressed in his typical black solicitors suit and his light brown hair neatly combed. He caught Aimee's gaze, and gave her a warm smile.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute now." He attempted to calm her angry mind.

_Yeah, right. I'm sure Christmas will be here sooner than that ineffectual idiot._ Aimee thought bitterly. The thought mirrored the expression on her face, Mr. Johnson decided not to say any more.

The pent up fury boiled within her when she looked at the grandfather clock in the far corner. If she had to wait another minute for that-

The door to the small office clacked open, the blinds shattering against the window. The company looked up hopefully, another solicitor in a black suit was stood at the door. His gaze was fixed on Mr. Johnson.

For a moment Aimee feared the worst, that her cousin wasn't in fact going to turn up, that some business had cropped up that was more important than getting this will sorted. It wouldn't have been unlike him.

"Mr. Sands is here." He announced, backing against the door to let another man behind him into the room. Aimee relaxed, but then tensed again at the realization of who was actually stepping through the doorway.

A proud man strode into the room. His black hair was cut around his shoulders, and framed defined cheekbones and a tanned face. And he wore sunglasses. Dark, black sunglasses, so dark that the eyes behind could be a mere rumour.

It was autumn.

_You're not in __Mexico__ anymore, idiot._ Aimee thought savagely, disregarding the peculiarity of his accessory choice for simple insolence.

The man discarded a deep rich brown jacket onto the coat rack by the door, and strode to the empty chair next to Aimee. He wore a black shirt with the first two buttons undone and a pair of black pants, you would think he was a solicitor out of work, she mused.

He sat down, crossed a leg over the other and sighed in apparent exhaustion. And that was it.

Aimee was furious.

"Are you not going to apologize for how incredibly late you are?" She asked in an incredulous tone, speaking before she let her brain tell her not to.

He looked at her vaguely, as if he didn't even care she was there.

"Aimee, how _wonderful_ to meet you after all these years." He drawled, making no attempt at pleasantries.

"How are you Jeff?" Aimee's step-brother called from behind her, amazingly calm.

Sands cocked his head at the sound of his second least favourite name. His expression was unable to determine with the sunglasses.

"Yes, _Shelly_, how have you been this last month?" Aimee grinned spitefully, knowing well enough Sands had a bitter dislike of his first name.

He twitched.

"Oh you know, easy come, easy go." He said silkily, as if she hadn't used the name at all.

"Well it obviously wasn't an easy come, because you've only just made it here." Aimee replied bitterly.

Sands gave her a blithe smile and turned to Mr. Johnson.

"I hope you will make this quick? I'm a busy guy." He said simply. Mr. Johnson remembered the phone call he had had with this man, and found that being in his presence was even more intimidating.

"Yes, I will. I understand no one wants to waste any time over this." Mr. Johnson replied, accompanied with the agreements of all three people sat before him.

"Now, in Mr. James Sand's will, he left his summer house in Canada to his wife, Mrs. Erin Sands. There are some slight complications as the will was rather out of date when she passed away, and the three of you are the only ones who are still with us that are mentioned in the will. All that was designated to the deceased, is to be given to Mr. Dominic Sands."

Aimee's step-brother nodded at the sound of his name.

"You receive the majority of your mother's remaining money, and half of her current house. As for her step-daughter, Aimee, she receives $250, 000." Mr. Johnson had taken to reading from the papers in front of him. "Given to Shel- Mr. Sands, $300, 000, and ownership of half of the summer house in Canada."

Sands' expression remained unreadable, though his memories of the summer house flashed in his mind.

"Now where the complications begin." Mr. Johnson said uneasily. "The other half of the summer house goes to Mr. Jacobs, however, should he not recover from his coma, then it will go to Miss. Aimee Jacobs. Due to medical condition there are certain points at which ownership of the half of the summer house will be viable to be in possession of Miss. Jacobs. This circumstance does not yet concern us as Mr. Jacobs is still in a stable condition, but we will frequently be checking up on him and all three of you will need to be contactable should there be any change to the situation "

Aimee swallowed, once again she felt the fear well up in her stomach. Hot tears threatened to roll down her cheeks.

"Well, that's interesting." Sands broke the silence, he didn't sound in the least bit interested. "But I assume it's still possible to sell my half of the house without having to wait for the old fool to wake up."

"You know you can't sell the house without my dad's consent." Aimee said shakily, coming towards the end of her tether with this man.

"I'm not asking to sell the summer house, I'm asking to sell _my _half of the summer house. There's a difference, about half of the money's difference in fact." Sands said in a patronizing manner.

"I don't think you should sell _anything_ without his consent."

"Erm, well if we were to look at this in a…" Mr. Johnson cleared his throat nervously, but then stopped talking when he noticed no one was actually taking any notice of him.

Sands sighed irritably.

"As surprising as it may be to you Aimee, the world does not revolve around you, nor your fucking asshole of a father."

The company in the room fell into a stunned silence.

"Don't you dare…" Aimee hissed, getting up from her seat. "Don't you dare say that. You can't even begin to understand how it is for him. My father is fighting for his life in that hospital bed."

"Maybe I should visit him, hmm? Tell him not to bother." Sands smirked bitterly.

Aimee blew.

"You sick, selfish son of a bitch!" She screamed. "You don't even deserve to live! You don't even know what it's like to be an inch from death! I hate you!" Her face was now red from screaming and hot tears streamed down her face.

Sands was struggling to keep a calm expression, but it wasn't working.

Slowly, surely, he uncrossed his legs and stood up. He took two steps towards Aimee, now inches away from her. He stood half a head taller than her, intimidating her vicious spirit.

"You-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence when a chirping noise filled the silent office. Aimee recognized the tune as La Cucaracha.

Groaning, Sands delved into a pocket and retrieved a vibrating, chirping flip-phone. He snapped it open irritably and placed it to his ear.

"Yes." He barked, both Dominic and Mr. Johnson looked away discreetly. Aimee kept her glare of fury right on the excuse for a human being in front of her.

"Yes, you do." He snapped. Aimee vaguely wondered who he was talking to. She watched as a frown formed on his face. "Well, I'm a little busy right now, so you're going to have to call me back-"

"You know what, have your stupid phone call, I'm leaving." Aimee said shortly, pushing past Sands, she headed for the door.

Mr. Johnson looked as if he was about to say something, but then decided against it, sat back in his chair and sighed.

"Who is this?" Sands asked irritably, barely noticing that Aimee had fled the room. Dominic looked up at his cousin warily, curious thoughts streaming through his mind. _Who is he talking to?_

"Joe? Well then, you listen to me Joe, because you've just ruined a very important meeting for me and frankly…" Sands groaned as the person on the other end of the phone cut him off. "That's awful nice for you, Joe. Goodbye." He snapped the flip-phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

"Sorry about that." He now addressed the remaining company in the room, they all knew it didn't matter what apology he made, Aimee had left the room in a flood of tears. Pausing only a slight moment to calm himself, Sands spoke again. "Well, it was a spiffy time meeting you Mr. Johnson, but I should be leaving now." And with a wry smile, he walked to the still wide open door.

Then Dominic noticed something about the way Sands moved, almost as if he didn't know where he was going. Before he could say or do anything, Mr. Johnson was out of his seat, rushing over to Sands. They started muttering, Mr. Johnson tried to take hold of Sands' arm, but he was promptly thrown off.

_That's strange. _Dominic frowned, frozen to his seat.

Mr. Johnson then retrieved Sands' coat off the stand and gave it to him. Without a word, Sands took it from him and left the office.

_Something's certainly not right._

* * *

Erm yeah, you like?

Btw, thankyou quick29 for your encouraging review, I hope you liked this chapter.


	3. Betrayer

DISCLAIMER: Duh, Sands doesn't belong to me. Pity.

Next chapter... this was going to be longer, but the next part of the story would fit in better if it was a new chapter. So here you are, a measly three and a bit pages. Joy.

* * *

Dominic hastily left the building, eyes darting this way and that, trying to trace his recently departed cousin. He found him leaning against a stone pillar, unlit cigarette in mouth and searching for a light. The man in black held around him a flustered aura that confused Dominic, Sands was anything but a man to let something upset him.

Slowly and uncertainly, he walked over to Sands, hands in pockets.

Sands found the lighter he had been looking for. Though he couldn't quite see in the dim streetlight, Dominic could be sure there were obscene pictures plastered on it. He couldn't help smiling, it was so Sands.

He clicked the lighter, feeling a dim warmth on his face as he brought the lighter to the cigarette in his mouth, and shielding it with his free hand.

He took one huge draught of the cigarette, like one would when they were coming up for air after being underwater for too long. Then he took another.

"Cigarettes still your life source?"

Sands jumped fearfully, then cursed himself for doing so.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…" The quiet voice trailed off apologetically. Sands half cursed himself and half sighed. It was only Dominic.

"Oh hey Dom, didn't see you there." He drawled simply, communication had become too much for him right now. His mind was already set on other matters. Dom looked on cautiously at Sands, he hadn't made any body language at all that showed he could see him now. He just looked straight ahead.

_Still, he's often like this._ He reasoned with himself. _There's no proof that something is wrong. Just keep him talking._ This was a statement much easier said than done.

"So… where will you be going now?" Dom said hopefully.

"Dom, don't be ridiculous. This is New York, where do you think I'm going?"

_'Broadway, baby.'_

Dom remembered the last time he had been in New York with Sands, he shuddered. He could never again see the word Oklahoma without freezing in terror.

"And please, don't pretend you're interested. Though last time was…_interesting_, I think you'd much rather go back to your hotel and mull over the joy of paperwork." Sands' lips tightened into a slight smile.

"Ah yes, the paperwork." Dom had just received a mental image of the stacks of paper he had brought with him, so as to not fall behind on his work. Being the president of a company meant his work had to nearly always come first. "Hey, what hotel are you staying at? Maybe I can get a number?"

"No." Sands said flatly.

"No? What, you've forgotten? Or, you don't have it? What no?"

"No."

Dom recoiled when Sands turned to face him, his face looked so stern and so emotionless that it made him feel cold.

Unsure what to say, Dom just stared back at shiny black lenses screening Sands' eyes. He knew if Sands wasn't wearing the shades, he would not have been able to stare down his dark eyes.

Sands broke the silence, sighing and taking another drag from his cigarette.

"What do you want Dom?" He drawled, Dom was taken aback by the question. "'Cause if you want to know who I was talking to on the phone, you can fuck off."

Dom gulped. That had been exactly what he wanted to know.

"Why's that?" He tried to keep calm as possible, but Sands could sense fear.

"Because it's none of your concern. Are you going to follow me around all evening or will I get some peace?" Sands asked irritably, he was evidently not in a good mood because normally when he sensed fear, he would play around with it.

"Erm, sure… Hey, you didn't see which way Aimee went did you?"

"No." The reply came as an irritated type of resignation.

"Ok then, I'll see you around?"

"I doubt it."

Dom felt extremely uneasy by now, something was playing on his cousin's conscience, and only when something is a big problem does it bother Sands. "Jeff, if something was wrong, you know you could tell me, right?" It was the dumbest thing he had ever said.

"Something wrong?" Sands raised his eyebrows and grinned at the thought. "What isn't wrong, eh? Terrorism, war, famine, drugs… government."

"That's not what I meant." Dom said flatly.

"The offer's awful nice, and I really do appreciate you for it, really. Only, I'm not sure if I can trust anyone right now. So, I'm going to say run along now lover boy, and leave me to finish killing myself slowly." He emphasized the point with another drag of his cigarette.

Dom did a double take, if Sands had been acting weird a second ago, it really didn't amount any difference. Sands was back.

"Goodbye, Jeff." Dom sighed.

"Goodbye Dom."

Rolling his eyes, Dom walked to the edge of the sidewalk.

* * *

Sands took another drag from the cigarette and imagined as non-smokers walked by wrinkling their noses in disgust, a wry smile formed on his lips. He listened intently as Dom walked away, the hard heels on his loafers tapping on the sidewalk. He heard him stop.

A flood of other noises filled his mind, cars whizzing past, pedestrians walking, people talking. He strained to focus his attention on Dom's movements alone. Nothing. He couldn't tell if he had walked away, or just stood still. His heart pounded.

_Someone in that room with you is an agent. I wonder who it is…_ The man calling himself Joe's voice crowed in his mind.

He could trust no one.

"Taxi!" Sands snapped to attention as he heard Dom's voice cry out.

_Perfect_. He had hoped Dom would get a cab, now he knew where the road was. Always a good thing.

He heard a door click open and slam shut, then a roaring engine that disappeared into the matrix of noise cradling the busy street.

_Suspect number one… gone._ He thought half triumphantly. Suspect number two was sat in an office, but suspect number three had yet to be accounted for. He hated this, he was as helpless as a lost child, and the only thing that comforted him was the weight in his jacket pocket. His gun.

Slowly, unsurely, he pushed away from the pillar, and felt a wave of panic as he left his safe little island.

A breeze caught him as someone rushed past. It blew behind his sunglasses and he was reminded most bitterly of how there should be eyes there to feel it.

_Yes, your eyes have gone. Get used to it fuckmook._ The bitter voice growled at the timid child he seemed to have become. Angrily, he stepped boldly forward, and collided into someone.

"Watch where you're going dickhead." The male voice growled.

"Fuck you." Sands cursed back.

He attempted again to cross the sidewalk, this time unhindered. He stopped when he felt the gust of cars going past.

_Here goes everything._

"Taxi!"

* * *

Err... do they say taxi in New York? Something tells me they don't. I'll change that if I find out otherwise. Hey, if you're bored there's action innext chapter, then you get to understand why this is R rated.

A big thankyou to reviewers, limited in numbers though you are, your comments really spur me on.

**Quick29** They might, they might not. I'm quite sure there will be lust, but I doubt it will lead anywhere.

Well, if you read it and you liked it, please review.


	4. Broadway

Sorry, no action in this one, thought there was going to be, but it's got a nice build up. Busy Christmas, wasn't any time for updates, but we're there now.

DISCLAIMER: Oh woe is me, Sands does not belong to me. And that is a very bad ryhme.

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In an alleyway hidden in the dark shadows of tall allotment buildings, was a dark blue van. The lights were off and it looked fairly redundant, but in fact there were three people sat inside. And one of those people, was a very frustrated man code-named Rattlesnake.

The reason Rattlesnake was frustrated, was that he was sweltering, and under a lot of mental pressure. He listened to the hum of computers all around him and the quickly infuriating tap of keys. Watching the drumming of fingers tapping on the keys sent his temper reeling with the dull monotone of it all.

It was stifling in the van with four computers going, and though he was only accompanied by two people, they were all necessary. The young woman sat opposite him had her back turned and was tapping away with a headset placed on her head, that was Ice Queen. She had the code-name for a reason.

"Visual footage online." Rattlesnake heard her state in an incredibly professional tone. That was because she was a professional, they all were.

A screen that had remained blank up till now instantly turned on with an immediate picture. The outside of a shady bar came crackling into view.

"Eagle, you read me?" Ice Queen spoke into her headset.

"Loud and clear." A voice crackled from the speakers on the other side of the van.

"Good, our target should be inside. Far end of the bar, you can't miss him. Drowning his sorrows." A small amount of emotion crept into Ice Queen's voice.

"I thought they were all drowning their sorrows in there." Eagle's voice crackled smugly. "Can you remind me again why the big guys even need all four of us to bring this schmuck down?"

"I've said it before, Eagle, I'm not saying it again. The target is dangerous, _don't_ get him angry." Ice Queen snapped.

"Ok, ok. Chill Icy."

Rattlesnake could just imagine the ridiculous arrogant smirk on Eagle's face. He was the reason he was under so much mental pressure. The other two operatives had voted that Eagle did the field-work and he had jumped at the chance, Rattlesnake wasn't so sure. The guy was still a rookie, _and_ he had never met the target before.

"Just don't get yourself killed in there, mate." Stallion, the remaining operative, spoke into his own headset.

"You guys worry too much, this jerk will be a piece of cake."

"Ok, let's move people. Remember Eagle, think tactics and you'll be fine." Ice Queen said as encouragingly as possible. Her thoughts suggested otherwise.

_He's doomed._

* * *

Sands lifted the bottle to his mouth and took one long swig. The alcoholic aftertaste burned his throat as he dropped it back onto the counter, he welcomed the sensation. He knew his course of action was pitiful, someone was following him and he decided to get drunk about it. But what could he do, he couldn't _see_ if someone was following him.

His memory flashed back to Mexico, just after he had lost his eyes. He remembered when the cartel hit man had been following him, and how he had been oblivious to his presence had it not been for the boy. Only now it was worse, because there was more of them. That thought deserved another mouthful of tequila. He felt the weight of the glass, there wasn't much left.

_I'll be needing more soon._ He mused sardonically.

_That's not the way to make a plan._

Groaning he took a fresh packet of cigarettes out of his trouser pocket, taking one out, he placed it between his lips. He found his lighter, and imagined as he always did, the flame that he should see in front of him.

"Broadway's dark tonight, eh?" A smug voice said, the words all too ironic to be a coincidence.

He was just about to tell the idiot to go away when he froze. He recognized the voice instantly. Quickly adopting a calm demeanour, he exhaled the toxic smoke in his lungs.

"Gee, I guess it is. How are you 'Joe'?" He drawled.

"Cut the crap, traitor." The smug voice turned stone cold.

"Well that's not very nice. Besides, I could be equally as disputant by saying I despise people who quote from songs, which I do." Sands couldn't fight back the smirk on his face, 'Joe' really was an idiot. He had barely spoken an amount worthy of a real sentence, and yet Sands could already tell multiple things from what he had said.

_And he was trained by the CIA?_

"Well to say the least, I'm surprised you even knew it was from a song. Thought you were more into the…musical variety." 'Joe' retorted arrogantly.

Sands heard a scraping noise as a stool was dragged across the floor. He heard the proud waddling stride of the idiot next to him as he sat on the seat.

_Boy, he's annoying._

"I dabble around in the music world, emo stuff has a certain attraction to it I guess."

"Emo?" 'Joe' said incredulously, he obviously didn't believe the band he had just quoted from were 'emo'.

_Ah, a man with an ego. How I hate them. So frustrating, but so easy to control._

"Yes, emo. You know this discussion really is amazing, but I'm interested in more pressing matters, personally. First one is this: you work for the agency, that much I can tell. So, what took you shit-heads so long to 'get back to me'?" Sands drawled, taking his fruitful vocabulary into full effect.

"Hey, mate, I don't make the rules. If I did, you would be six feet under ages ago. Beer please."

Sands glared incredulously at where he thought 'Joe' was, until he realized he had asked a bartender for the beer.

"Right," He forced himself to get back into control. "Well I consider it rather rude that you didn't answer my question, or perhaps you don't know. Well did you know I've been kept in the dark for three fucking weeks in a _civilian_ hospital? Now I'm _sure_ that's not company policy." He had difficulty controlling the anger in his voice, the tequila wasn't helping either.

"Yes, well I would like to know quite what you think company policy is." 'Joe' replied curtly. "If you really want to know, we've been in Culiacan, cross-referencing various forms of data. Received an interesting testimony from a… El Mariachi."

Sands went rigid.

_That backstabbing son-of-a-bitch._

"Oh, _really_?" He slurred, not an inch of anger in his tone. It was time to lure the officer into a false sense of security, and what better way than to sound drunk? Sands would never let someone else get the upper hand in a situation, he was too damned greedy. "I bet that was fun."

"It was, we found out some interesting stuff about your operation."

"And of course by 'we', you of course don't mean you included. Because they wouldn't let a rookie do such a thing, surely not?"

"That'll be $6." Another voice said as a sound of glass against wood filled Sands ears. There was a jangle of loose change and a tap of coins being placed onto a counter.

Sands waited for the footsteps to fade away before speaking again. It was time to wrap this up, and find out what he wanted to know.

"In fact, I bet right now you have voices buzzing in your ear because they can't trust you. That earphone must be awfully uncomfortable, and the hidden camera, not too cosy, eh?"

Silence ensued.

"You know your stuff, officer." 'Joe' sounded torn between disgust and surprise.

"Course I do."

"So you know what's going to happen to you?" The smug tone returned.

"I know what _should_ happen to me, but here's the thing 'Joe', there's this nagging little thought in the back of my mind saying I don't want that to happen.

"So 'Joe', how much did they find out, that's what I really want to know? How much did they tell you? I just love to hear how they play fuckmooks out of everyone."

"I've been told you're a rouge officer, a traitor, a murderer, that your own agents have made testimonies against you, and that you gotta die." 'Joe' growled.

Sands grinned psychotically. On purpose of course.

"Just the basics then. How many of you working on this assignment, how many little agents have you rounded up, eh?"

"What makes you think I'm just going to sing for you?" 'Joe' spat.

"What makes you think I'm just going to up and believe you know what you're talking about?" Sands raised an eyebrow.

'Joe' said nothing. Sands took advantage of the silence to take a long drag from his cigarette.

"I know what I'm talking about." 'Joe' replied quietly.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do."

_Puppet on a string._

Sands leaned in towards 'Joe', listening to his quick paced breathing. He then uttered the all time childish phrase.

"Prove it."

* * *

'Joe' mulled the thought over in his mind. _Prove it._ He knew he could, the voices buzzing in his ear were so distant. He observed the man in front of him, looking every inch like he was up to no good. But what did he need the others for? He could finish this traitor off right here right now, forget a clandestine operation.

The three voices buzzed in his ear, ordering, pleading him not to cut contact with them. He inwardly laughed at their stupidity, what made them think he couldn't handle this?

Rebelliously, 'Joe' pulled the earphone from his ear and let it fall. He kept the camera in place.

_Let them see._ He thought pompously. _Let them see when I dispose of the target **without **their help._

* * *

"Eagle! Eagle do you read me?!" Ice Queen cried desperately into her mic. It was useless, there was no reply.

"I knew this would happen." Rattlesnake groaned, leaning over Ice Queen.

"One of us needs to get in there." Ice Queen muttered.

"And do what? Remember this is meant to be a Clandestine Operation. Eagle's as good as dead now."

"Well, we have to do something." Ice Queen wouldn't be able to live with herself if she left Eagle alone with the target. "Stallion, you stay here, operate the systems. Rattlesnake, you're coming with me."

There weren't any protests, there was no time.

* * *

Sands listened as the earphone hit the counter as gravity claimed it. His lips pulled into a slight smirk.

"That's better."

_Now the real fun begins._

* * *

Or it will, when I write it. Soon I swear!!

That song by the way, was Broadway by the Goo Goo Dolls, definately not emo, but it got up 'Joe's nose enough :P

Reviews please! I feed on them.(Actually I'm surprised with how many reviews I have so far, THANKYOU ALL!!)


	5. Show's over

Shortish chappie, sorry about the wait, bit of action in this one. There's more in the next one, honest.

DISCLAIMER: What happened, I'm _still_ not the owner of Sands! Damn.

* * *

"Now, where were we? 

"Ah yes, you refused to tell me how many agents you had rounded up for this class project of yours."

The bar was virtually empty, it was dingy, ill-lit and small. Walls painted dark blue, with crude neon signs flashing on and off, which 'Joe' thought was a weird thing to notice at a time like this.

_'Think tactics and you'll be fine.'_ Ice Queen's voice echoed in his mind. Since seeing the smirk on the target's face, he had been having second thoughts about exterminating contact with his colleagues.

There was nothing he could do though, the target's point would be emphasized if he put the earplug back in now.

Heartbeat racing, he looked around the bar again. A couple of drunks hunched over drinks dotted here and there, but no one who would do anything if he shot the target. And that was his plan, shoot the target, drag him away, be the hero.

His fingers twitched at the gun holstered at his thigh.

Eventually, he returned his focus to the target, who now looked rather impatient.

* * *

Sand's brow furrowed at the ever lengthening silence, why had this cocky rookie suddenly shut up? Something wasn't right. 

"Ok then, let's try something else. Is there anyone else in here working with you? Are you cheating on me?"

_How stupid actually is this guy?_ Sands was beginning to doubt his presumptions, he had been fucked with before, he didn't want this to reoccur.

A short sharp laugh offended his ears.

"You still think I'm going to sing to you, don't you? You're more fucked up than they told me you were." 'Joe's voice was loud, too loud.

Sands didn't need eyes to tell that a fair few heads had already turned. He chuckled ever so quietly, this was the oldest trick in the book. 'Joe' was scared, he was using the fall-back tactic. _If all else fails, make people notice you._ Because everyone knows the bad guy doesn't want to be noticed.

_It's time to show this fuckmook who he's dealing with._

"Want to watch yourself? Or would you rather everyone in the whole joint hears what you have to say?" He looked around conspiringly, speaking in a low whisper.

"What you afraid of, eh? That people will notice? Too late, buddy." He could hear the grin, he could actually _hear_ it.

"Well the real question is this, what are _you_ afraid of? Seems to me you're calling for help." Sands said placidly. "It's not too late to tell me how many hit men you've got in here."

"Look, there's no one else, just you and me."

"Want to get a room?"

'Joe' twitched, he had no idea what Ice Queen had been talking about, there was no matter about getting the target angry, the target was getting him angry as it was. Unfortunately for 'Joe', when he gets wound up, he retaliates.

"Do you? You can lead the way if you want. Oh wait… you can't." 'Joe' audibly grinned.

Sands stared at him, with a long, cold, hard stare. He heard the agent shift his weight uncomfortably. He smiled inwardly, though never ruining his emotionless mask. Then he heard something that didn't make him smile.

A sharp rustle.

A loud _click_ of a gun being cocked.

"Did you hear that, traitor? That's the sound of justice."

Sands wasn't broken. Sands never breaks.

"Justice? Bullshit, more like." Sands whispered calmly. "Tell you what, Mr. Justice. I think that it would be much nicer to the wonderful owner of this bar, if we were to step outside for a wee bit while I kill you, wouldn't want any civilians getting their brains blown out, now would we?"

It was a long shot, but it was a more than plausible one. He could tell this from the silence as 'Joe' mulled the thought over in his mind. The wait was painful, and his gun felt so heavy in his pocket, yearning to be picked up. He threw away the doubts, they were useless, running on nothing but pure adrenaline. As is the way.

"Fair enough." 'Joe' finally replied.

With a smirk, Sands got to his feet. And in one quick movement, his gun was out and cocked. He lunged wildly at where he thought 'Joe' was. Rewarded with a shoulder, he pushed him onto the counter. A smash and a splat proclaimed a fallen beer.

* * *

Without hesitation, the gun was aimed at 'Joe's head. He didn't try to say anything, the pain in his back where he folded over the counter was too great. 

Sand's leaned in close, a menacing grin on his lips. 'Joe' could smell alcohol and cigarette smoke in the man's breath. All he could think, over and over again was: _when did I get him angry?_

"Say goodbye, 'Joe'." Sand's said so heartlessly, he didn't seem human.

'Joe' couldn't believe it, he was going to die. Frantically, his mind searched for the reason why. It had betrayed him and shut down, he felt so alone, he felt-

BANG!

* * *

Hmmm, how much of a cliffhanger was that? Not really, maybe. 

**Reviews **

Welcome to websurfer, a new reviewer! Hope you'll stick around.  
_ Black as Gold_- you flatter me too much, I just have a very descriptive and visual mind, but thanks all the same  
_ Fanfiction fanatic_- ok, not so sure there's so much action in this chappie, but there may be tension...  
And errm, thanks to all reviewers who I haven't replied to, I love you all. Now people...REVIEW!


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